Memory

Steady afternoon of brown lights. A

boy dicing dusty sheets into his fragile

mouth. The teacher’s room in tumour.

Flayed papers flying around.

It is a classroom. The seats look creak

enough to break the silence of the day.

The atmosphere so blue we planted & bred

flowers inside our throat.

Two bodies bridging the

bond between breaths. Your Lanky

hands on a child so dear. It was a first

time i breathed as one with you.

We found our way into deeper lands –

wet and drippy – through tunnels. An

unending tickling amidst short cackles

and silent whispers.

Steady afternoon of brown lights. A

boy dicing dusty sheets into his fragile

mouth. The teacher’s room in tumour.

Flayed papers flying around.

Continue reading →

Mahbub, a Bangladeshi author and English teacher

The Faces I Stand Before

The faces I stand before flows on the river
Like the birds flying always spreading the wings of time
I stand before the golden faces
A glow on the morning sun
I stare at and enjoy the sweet scents
Morning buds to get fully bloomed till the noon
I again and again find the star light of heaven
How can I describe my feelings I don’t know the language
My heart overflows with joy and glory
The innocent, loving and soothing to eyes
Anyone can get lost in sweet dreams
I dream in my sleep throughout the whole night
There is no touch of stigma in the face or smile
The waves of the river splash water to everybody
We can bathe and make our mind tension free
They are our asset, our future generation
Build the nation and the world
Where there will have no claim of corruption and tyranny
I always find myself in this mind blowing garden
Whose name is Class Room.

Firefly

It was fire flying in the air
A boy of ten standing beside
Unmindful wandering here and there
By the side of a bush with much curiosity
It was night waiting for the train
His grandfather was always beside him
Suddenly his eyes blazed
A light flying in the air he never found before
What a nice fire!
He advanced and wanted to catch
But again got afraid if he is burned
Like a star glittering the land
So fascinating charms the heart and eyes
A man walking along suddenly uttered
It’s a firefly. He heard the name before but now realized
How wonderful the light!
Glows in the darkness of the night
Today after many years
The sight reflects in my eyes too much to be bright.

In The Dark and Light

Clouds are swirling in the sky
All seem to be dark and gloomy
I am on my sleeping bed
My eyes are closed
All transferred to the other
I woke up and it was raining
The cloud dispersed the rain stopped
The sun reflected on my face peeping and laughing
What a wonder! I live sometimes here sometimes I die
Sometimes I flow on water sometimes I fly
Sometimes I fall down in the mirage
Clouds are whirling in the sky
It started raining
After sound sleep with sweet dream
It seemed all rosy and green, fresh and clean
The sky filled with the rainbow screen.

My Loving Rose

From my childhood I got my sense
Permeated among surrounding stars of the night
A light of joy played of my face
I was maddened with the scent
Early in the morning from my rose tree
Just beside the window
The rose breeze entered at the morning glow
In the early of the day so fascinating I moved on
I didn’t know the scented value, the time passed from me
It was the beginning of the day, a dewy rose just before me
I looked and looked and found myself in it
Nourishing the rose in my heart, I stood before you
It was a red rose I handed over
From then you spread the sight always jolly and enchanting
The rose played on me in my childhood.

Change

The world is getting too much
Day by day it’s going to be so nervous
Bushes and forests are replaced by new buildings and highways
Today where we see the no man’s land
Tomorrow must be covered with hundred and thousand of hands and feet
Today where we see the cultivating land
And open fields the animals grazing
The living insects surrounded with shrubs and trees
Must be planned for tomorrow’s new civilization
It throws away the love that was a bond once for all
Suddenly snatched away from one to the other
Frequently break the heart of our beloveds and lovers
Though we talk much of our promise
True love is suffocating in the new colored buildings
In every blink of eyes
Cause deaths and sufferings.

Chapainawabganj, Bangladesh
04/07/2018

You are not Alone

Michael Robinson (right) and fellow contributor Joan Beebe

Sitting beside you, watching you sleep,

Brings found memories of my childhood,

You watched me sleep, in the dresser drawer on a pillow,

You watched me cry, as I was teething.

All the little things you turned into love,

I watch you sleep, as I sit looking out the window.

It’s summer and the breeze are cool,

Remembering you taken my hand.

Now I take you hand and hold it close to my heart,

As I watch you sleep for the last time.

Continue reading →

The titular poem in Amlanyjoti Goswami’s River Wedding prepares us right away for the unexpected. The ‘wedding’ in question is not of a couple getting married outdoors, but of rivers themselves gathering in a great celebratory storm, at once spectacular and threatening.

Movement, whether of rivers or human beings, propels the collection forward. Journeys and travels, arrivals and departures, frequently serve as motifs. Images of airplanes, trains and terminals intersperse the pages of River Wedding, from the concrete aesthetic pieces such as ‘Terminal 3’ to intriguing juxtapositions in free verse, including ‘Reading Tibetan on the London Tube.’ Several affectionate pieces illustrate intergenerational family love, where elders share their caring wishes for younger family members, and, through them, journey through time as well as space.

Goswami’s work reflects a cosmopolitan awareness of a large world. Pieces take place in Indian cities and towns, a Caribbean beach, the London subway, and Washington, D.C. at night, where teens shoot hoops and those of all ages and backgrounds ride the bus home. In one piece, he highlights and laments the fear created internationally by racist violence in Charlottesville, Virginia, through a speaker who feels hunted even from miles away.

Yet he can write as evocatively about domestic scenes, as he does in ‘Two Sisters’ and ‘Lunch,’ as sensitively and directly as about his speakers’ meanderings or pensive abstract musings.

His language is conversational but never rambling or confessional, with a reserve that comes from intentionally chosen words. He brings in academic language when it adds to the subject and the flavor of a piece, when he talks of Matthew Arnold, ancient Tibetan books, or philosophy, yet never becomes abstruse for the sake of it.

He splashes in a dose of humor, in pieces such as ‘The Philosopher Meets his Match’ and plays with language and the arrangement of words on the page, as in ‘Leaving the Building’ and ‘Terminal 3.’

Yet, his greatest strength comes from the personal, affectionate poems, such as the tribute to the grandmother, ‘Aabu,’ written in her voice, which he can carry off with a gentle reserve that suggests deep feeling.

 Amlanjyoti Goswami’s River Wedding is available here.